Broke
by DeterminedX2
Summary: How does SpongeBob afford everything when he flips burgers for a living? Maybe he doesn't.
1. Dearest Bill Collectors

**Broke**

**Chapter 1**

SpongeBob sat Indian-style beside his spice garden. He was reading to the plants, as he did every Monday. It's a well-known fact that regularly talking to plants helps them grow.

But SpongeBob took it a step further. He preferred to _read_ to his spice garden. Unfortunately for him, he'd exhausted his book supply and was down to reading any kind of textual scrap he could find. Books were expensive. Today's read was the nutritional facts of the Krabby Patty secret formula. Don't worry, Plankton wasn't around.

"So then came the calories. There were 550 of them!" said SpongeBob, somewhat reading. "But only 400 were from fat!" He looked up from the label. "Gosh, isn't this an exciting mystery novel?"

"SpongeBob, help!" exclaimed Patrick, rushing into the yard. He skidded to a stop, nearly missing the tarragon. "Oh, my gosh! It's terrible!"

"What is it, Patrick?" asked SpongeBob, worried.

Patrick's eyes were wide with panic. "I can't find my tail!"

"You don't have a tail."

"I know, I said it was missing! Gosh, don't rub it in!"

"Bahahahaha!" laughed SpongeBob. "Good one, Patrick."

"Why are you laughing at me?! This is serious! If I don't find my tail, I don't know what I'm gonna do!"

SpongeBob's borderline ADD mind had stopped listening to his friend. Something across the yard had caught his attention. "Hey, look! The mailman's here!" He hurried off to see if the fish had left him anything good.

When Patrick opened his eyes from his rant, he saw SpongeBob was gone. "Huh? SpongeBob?"

A few minutes later, when Patrick was just starting to realize that maybe he should actually move if he wanted to find his neighbor, SpongeBob walked past him on his way inside. Patrick approached just as the sponge was opening the door.

"Oh, thank Neptune you're still alive!" said Patrick. "I thought I'd lost you, just like my tail!"

SpongeBob walked inside the pineapple, with Patrick following. "No, silly. I was just getting the mail." He tossed a handful of letters on the floor and flopped on the couch. "I was hoping to get some junk mail or one of those missing persons things, but I didn't get _anything_ worth looking at!"

Gary slithered up, hearing the tail end of their conversation. The snail looked at the pile of envelopes on the floor. "Meow?" he said inquisitively.

"Yes, I know they're all bills, Gary," replied SpongeBob. "You'd think they'd stop sending me those when I didn't pay, but gosh, they just keep coming!"

"Meow!" Gary said in a reprimanding tone.

"I don't pay them because I don't have enough money! It's common sense."

Patrick listened to the two of them and wondered if SpongeBob actually understood Gary, or if SpongeBob was projecting his own voice onto the snail in a bizarre symptom of a psychotic disorder. But then Patrick forgot and continued staring in two different directions at once.

"Fine, I'll open them! Sheesh!" said SpongeBob, swiping a couple letters from the floor. He opened the first one, ripping the envelope much more than necessary because those things are hard to open without a letter opener, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The paper then unfolded in a cartoony, accordion-like manner to ground, revealing a long list. "Uh … I think this is from my credit card company."

"Wow, you have a credit card?" asked Patrick.

"We'll just put that one aside for now," said SpongeBob as he balled it up instead of refolding it. He grabbed another envelope, shredding this one as well, and quickly scanned it.

"Who's it from?" Patrick asked. "Ooh, is it from me?"

SpongeBob frowned. "Not unless you're demanding five thousand dollars in long overdue mortgage payments."

"Hmmm." Patrick rubbed his chin. "I wasn't before, but I would consider it …"

SpongeBob opened a third letter. "Wow, this water bill is the highest I've seen in months," he said, not understanding the irony that he lives in the ocean. "And I didn't even pay those other months."

"Open another! This is like a paper Christmas!" Patrick handed SpongeBob another letter. "This one's from … the ihhhh … R'us."

SpongeBob took it. "The IRS?" he read. "Uh oh. I forgot all about taxes. Umm, we'll just leave that one on the back burner for now." He folded it into a paper airplane and threw it at an actual burner toward the back of his stove. It caught fire on impact.

"How about the electric company?" Patrick held out the envelope.

"Wow, Patrick! You read that all by yourself?"

"There's a picture of a light bulb in the corner."

SpongeBob was busy opening another bill. This one was from the hospital. "Eight thousand and three dollars?!" he exclaimed as he read it. "I gotta learn not to break my butt sand-boarding or slip on ice cubes at tough guy clubs or build pools at the top of collapsible hotels anymore."

Patrick nodded. "Those are some wise words, SpongeBob."

SpongeBob noticed Patrick's eyes were not on him. "What're you looking at, Patrick?"

"Gary over there. He's so cute when he's sleeping."

SpongeBob turned to see his pet unconscious on the floor. The snail was a pale color, overturned limply on his side, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Beside him lay the cause of his blackout: SpongeBob's bank statement.

"Gary!" SpongeBob hurried over and took the snail in his arms. "Speak to me, Gary! Are you okay?!"

Patrick bent over and picked up the paper. He looked at it briefly before grinning and turning to SpongeBob. "Hey, you've got plenty of money!"

SpongeBob looked up. "Huh?"

"Yeah, it says here you've got over four thousand dollars!" He held the paper in front of SpongeBob. "See?"

"Patrick, there's a minus sign in front of that. That means I've got _negative_ four thousand-some dollars!"

"Oh."

"What am I gonna do about Gary? I can't take him to the vet! I don't have any money!"

Patrick waved him off. "Psssh. I faint all the time. I lose all kinds of blocks of time. It's not a big deal."

"So you think he'll be all right?"

"Sure! He'll be back to digging up houseplants and soiling the carpet in no time!"

"Phew, that's a relief." SpongeBob dropped Gary and stood up. "Thanks, buddy."

"No problem! That's what friends are for!"

SpongeBob glanced over to his now shredded pile of bills. "But I still gotta figure out what to do about all these."

"Eh, don't worry about that," said Patrick. "I've never paid a bill in my life, and look at me! I got a great life! Living under a rock, rolling around in sand, neglecting other people's pets. It's awesome!"

SpongeBob shrugged. "Well, okay! I'll forget about them then!"

"Great! Now let's go get you to buy us something to eat!" Patrick turned toward the door. "I'm starving!"

"Okay! Just gimme a second. I gotta take care of something first." SpongeBob gestured with his arm and created a large rainbow. He jumped on it and slid down it like a slide to the First National Bank of SpongeBob. Otherwise known as a cauldron-like pot. But instead of any money inside, it was stuffed full of envelopes. SpongeBob added the new bills to the collection. "First step to fiscal responsibility is organization!" he said proudly.

"Let's get ice cream," said Patrick, who hadn't been paying attention to SpongeBob, but instead was fantasizing about chocolate chip cookie dough. There was a considerable amount of drool around his mouth.

"Sounds good to me! Just gotta check and see if I've got enough cash." SpongeBob patted his sides. When he didn't feel anything, he frantically reached inside his pockets. "Huh?! I can't find my wallet!"

"Maybe it's with my tail."

"Patrick …" SpongeBob froze, a terrified expression on his face. "Do you think it's possible that if your wallet has such a large amount of negative money, that it will implode in on itself?"

"As a physicist? Yes."

SpongeBob ignored Patrick's assumption of a scientist of the laws of physics and continued to panic. "I'm worried, Patrick. Maybe this bill thing is worse than I thought."

"Some Neapolitan would definitely help!" said Patrick, butchering the pronunciation of the second word.

"No, no. I think I need to take care of this now."

Patrick stopped grinning and lowered his eyelids halfway. "Well, good luck with that."

"You're leaving?"

"SpongeBob, I have important matters to attend to," said Patrick in a smug voice as he walked toward the door. "And those matters are all various ice cream flavors."

"Okay, then. See you around, bud—" The door shut, cutting SpongeBob off. " … dy."

SpongeBob sat completely still in silence. Then he jumped up triumphantly, having just been inspired by an idea.

"I know what I'll do, Gary!" he said, hands proudly on his hips. He'd forgotten Gary was in a debt-induced coma. "I'll just write a letter to all the bill collectors pleading for more time to get the money! They'll understand. I mean, they're people. They have hearts, right?"

Silence. No one was around to answer him.

"Right!" he replied to himself.

SpongeBob went to his desk to compose the most sympathy-warranting letter he could. He smacked a piece of paper on the desktop, holding a pen in the other. "Okay! Here goes." He tried to plan what he'd say in his head. "Gary, do you think 'I beseech thee' is too formal? …Gary? Oh, right. You're unconscious." He shrugged. "All right, here goes …"

_Dearest Bill Collectors,_

_I'm afraid that at this time I cannot pay your various dues. Please allow me more time to acquire the desired funds. Unless you want to just forget about it all together. That'd be great. Because I really have no money and to be honest I have no idea how I will pay all you guys. I'm sorry! Really! Please don't repossess my stuff. I really like my stuff. I need it to keep in my house. Oh, and don't take my house either, please. Thanks._

_Sighed, _

_The undersigned_

SpongeBob took a moment to read over his letter. "Perfect! How could they say no to that?"

"I dunno, SpongeBob," said Patrick. He was suddenly hovering over SpongeBob's shoulder with two dripping ice cream cones in each hand. "I don't think you're supposed to sign your name 'the undersigned.'"

SpongeBob swiveled around in his chair, slightly annoyed. "Hey, who's the expert here, Mr. I've-never-paid-a-bill-in-my-entire-life?"

"Oops, sorry," said Patrick. "I forgot."

SpongeBob grinned and looked down at his letter. "Hopefully this will solve my problems for now!"

"I wish it would solve mine."

SpongeBob's smile disappeared as he remembered something. " … if only I could afford some stamps."

_To be continued._


	2. Just Nineteen Thousand Dollars

**Chapter 2**

SpongeBob had sent copies of the letter to each individual place that had demanded money. Much to his surprise, they were not sympathetic. The letters did not stop. SpongeBob didn't answer the phone anymore, because nearly every call was an angry bill collector screaming for cash. The electricity was cut off, then the water.

His spice garden was suffering without daily watering. SpongeBob still read to it, but it didn't do much good.

He sat beside it, rocking back and forth, with his eyes two different sizes. "Y-y-your account has b-been frozen …" he read shakily, staring off into space. The reading material of the day was his bank account statement.

Nearby, Squidward shut the door behind him as he exited his house. He turned his hose on and began to water his flowers.

SpongeBob watched intently. "Um, Squidward?" he said across the yard. "Could you maybe spray some of that on my spice garden?"

Squidward lazily glanced over. He was about to squirt SpongeBob out of annoyance — the sponge looked like he hadn't bathed in days anyway — when he spied a new target. Patrick walked by on his way to SpongeBob's. Or trespassed, in Squidward's mind. So he sprayed the starfish's bottom on full blast.

Patrick didn't see where the water came from and bolted when he felt the pressure. "Ahhhh!" he screamed as he ran into SpongeBob's yard. "SpongeBob, did you know it's raining?! And that I'm the only one getting rained on?!"

"Why do you have to walk through my yard?" called Squidward to Patrick. "Are you too lazy to walk a few extra feet to use the street?"

Patrick, who didn't bother to answer Squidward, started to wring out his shorts beside SpongeBob. "Maybe it's a good thing my tail's gone or else it would have gotten soaked in that downpour."

"Hey, Patrick, would you mind wringing your pants out over my spice garden?" asked SpongeBob. "I haven't been able to water them for a little while."

"Why not?"

"My water's been shut off!" he sobbed. "I can't tend to my garden, I can't shower, and I have to go to the bathroom in the bushes!"

This caught Squidward's attention. "Sick, SpongeBob! I ought to report you to the authorities!"

"Going in the yard is a crime?" asked SpongeBob, frowning.

"I sure hope it's not!" said Patrick.

Squidward stopped the hose and put his hands on his hips. "Why is your water cut off, SpongeBob? Didn't pay your bills?" he said mockingly.

SpongeBob looked down. "Yeah …"

"Oh," said Squidward. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes. I thought it'd be some dumb reason like you clogged up your drains with Krabby Patties or jellyfish or something."

"I'm gonna lose everything soon if I don't get some money fast!"

Suddenly a very rare event occurred. Patrick had an idea. And he thought it was a good one. He'd had a very similar one before, but he couldn't remember any negative consequences. Nope, nothing about a balloon or anything. "Hey … why don't you just _borrow _some money?"

"Borrow?" SpongeBob thought about it. "Okay! Hey, Patrick, can I borrow some money?"

"Hmmm. Let me check the First National Bank of Patrick." Patrick patted his shorts, only to realize he didn't have pockets. Then he realized he didn't have a job. "Sorry, buddy."

"That's okay," said SpongeBob, glancing over with a grin to his other neighbor. "I'm sure my good pal Squidward can loan me a few bucks!"

"Oh, suuuure," Squidward said sarcastically. "Why don't you take my whole life's savings? Neptune, my whole house even? I'll live in the bushes."

"Gosh, I don't need your house, Squidward! Just nineteen thousand dollars."

Squidward literally fell over laughing. The prospect was that funny to him. "Nineteen thousand dollars?!" he said in between laughs as his nose inflated and deflated. "You gotta be kidding me! You'll never make enough flipping burgers to pay _that _off!"

"You don't have nineteen thousand dollars, Squidward?" asked SpongeBob sadly.

"No way! I'm a cashier!" He stood up and wiped a tear from his eye. "Only a rich person would randomly loan out nineteen thousand dollars to a barnacle-head like you."

SpongeBob rubbed his chin. "Do we know any rich people?"

Squidward suddenly grew nervous. "Uhh, no we don't. I mean, _I_ sure don't. I definitely don't know anybody who's rich. So don't look at me. Honestly, I don't! Stop asking."

"I really feel like there is …"

"Me too …" agreed Patrick.

"See, Squidward?" said SpongeBob. "Even Patrick thinks so."

"Oh, what does _he_ know? He's a total—"

Suddenly something careened across SpongeBob's yard and smashed against the side of the pineapple. It hit just left of the window, which was actually the target, but somebody had bad aim. The object then landed below on the ground.

SpongeBob and Patrick hurried over to see, as this seemed much more interesting than anything Squidward would say. It was a rock with a piece of paper taped to it. SpongeBob read it aloud:

_Dear Mr. SpongBob SquarePants,_

_Have the money by the end of the day or we will seize your collateral, AKA your pineapple and belongings._

_Sincerely,_

_The First National Bank of a Real Bank_

_P.S. Yes, this is an official bank notice. It's just how we deal with lowlifes like you._

"Oh, no!" said Patrick. "What are you gonna do, Spong Bob?!"

"The second thing I'm gonna do is panic, Patrick," said SpongeBob in a rather calm tone. "But first, of course, I gotta follow through with etiquette. Always respond to a letter!"

SpongeBob turned the piece of paper over and scribbled:

_Dear Bank,_

_I'll do my best! And that's what really matters, right? Please don't send repo men!_

_Love, _

_Spong__**E**__Bob SquarePants_

Since it was the direction from which it came, SpongeBob just chucked the rock and paper back into the street to send it back. It hit the ground and simply lay there. When Patrick gave him a strange look, SpongeBob said, "I don't have any stamps. I had to hand deliver all those letters to the buildings myself. Or would that technically be 'unicycle-deliver'?"

"Hey, SpongeBob," said Squidward, who is still in the scene. "Do you know what they do to people who don't pay off debts?"

SpongeBob trembled. "No, what?"

Squidward was grinning evilly. "They make them work in the bank until they pay off the money! Meaning you'll have to give up your job at the Krusty Krab!"

For some reason SpongeBob was naïve enough to believe this. "Oh, no! Anything but that!"

"Uh-huh. You better just quit now. But don't tell Mr. Krabs why, it'll ruin … uh … the surprise."

"Squidward, you're a genius!" said SpongeBob gleefully. "I can just ask Mr. Krabs for a loan! He knows a lot about money!"

"That's not what I said you—"

"I dunno, SpongeBob," said Patrick, interrupting. "Do you really think he'll give it to you?"

"Of course! Mr. Krabs is the best boss in the world!"

* * *

SpongeBob walked up the path — which was just dispersed sand, as Mr. Krabs didn't want to actually pay for a walkway — to the anchor. Once his pavement-less walk was complete, he arrived at the door and knocked on it.

But there was no answer.

"Mr. Krabs?" he called. "Are you there? Hello? It's me, SpongeBob! I need your help with some bill collectors—"

The door flew open immediately, followed by a big red claw that punched SpongeBob right in the face.

"You'll never take me money, you thievin' sons a — oh, SpongeBob. It's you," said Mr. Krabs, his expression quickly changing over from anger. "Sorry about that, lad. I hear 'bill collectors' and instinct takes over."

SpongeBob dazedly stood up, holding his head. His eye was black. "Th-that's okay, Mr. Krabs …"

"What can I do for ya, boy?"

"Well, um, I'm kind of in a difficult situation and I was hoping you could help me …"

Mr. Krabs' voice was patronizing. "Aw, what's the matter? Break yer spatular? Lose one of them ka-rot-tay matches? Couldn't blow just the right bubble?"

"No, I have a serious problem! I'm nineteen thousand dollars in debt!"

Mr. Krabs placed his claw on his chest and stumbled a bit. "Barnacles, boy! How'd you get so deep in the hole?!"

SpongeBob shrugged. "I didn't mean to! I just spent more than I earned, I guess!"

"That's why I don't trust banks," said Mr. Krabs, who was beginning to sweat profusely. "I keep all me money in me mattress, so I can only spend as much as I have."

"Wow, Mr. Krabs! You sure are smart!"

The crab patted his chest again. "I think I'm having money empathy pains or something …" he said.

SpongeBob had taken two steps forward. He was very close to crossing the threshold of the door, but Mr. Krabs wouldn't move. "You're so nice to let me borrow your mattress money! You really are the best boss ever!"

"WHAT?! I never said that!" Mr. Krabs felt a terrible pain in his left arm. "I wouldn't give you a nickel!"

"Mr. Krabs, are you okay? You're all sweaty and you're breathing weird—"

Suddenly Mr. Krabs fell against the doorframe and slid to the ground. "SpongeBob … these are the worst money pains I've ever had …"

SpongeBob started to panic. "I think you're having a heart attack! Where's your phone? I'll call 911!" He tried to hop over his boss, but Mr. Krabs gave him another punch in the face to stop him.

"You know how much ambulance rides cost?!"

"Actually, I have a bill at home—"

"Just go away, SpongeBob! As soon as you leave, I'll feel better!" Mr. Krabs was still lying in the doorway, holding his left arm. He didn't know it, but SpongeBob was right. Money empathy pains didn't exist except in the crab's mind; this was a real heart attack.

SpongeBob was torn. He didn't know if he should stay or go. But then he remembered how hard Mr. Krabs could punch him in the face, and the choice became easy. He fled down the street, far away from his ailing boss.

* * *

The sun had set and the streetlights had come on. But the town seemed rather empty that night. SpongeBob had come to regret his decision to leave Mr. Krabs. He realized that it was the second time his financial crisis had negatively affected the health of someone he cared about. So he walked the streets alone, trying to keep the burden to himself.

Patrick had been right about ice cream all along, SpongeBob thought. It worked well for drowning out sorrows. He would have bought some at the Goofy Goober Nut Bar, but of course he was broke. So instead he had to dig some leftovers out of the dumpster. It was good practice should he become a hobo, he thought.

SpongeBob licked at his hands as the ice cream melted through them. The cone had been smashed. It was his last serving for the night, he swore to himself. Back at the dumpster he must have eaten the equivalent of sixteen bowls, but it was hard to tell since he'd just shoveled whatever was in the trash into his mouth.

SpongeBob stumbled to the ground, falling on his back. "Ughhhh …" he groaned as he let his eyes close.

That must have been some potent rum raisin.

_To be continued._


	3. At Rock Bottom

_A/N: On the SpongeBob "Best Day Ever" CD there is a song that depicts Rock Bottom as a wild, happenin' town. In case you're wondering what the deal is with this chapter._

_Also I meant to say this in the last chapter, but big thanks to everyone who's reviewed :)_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

SpongeBob lay on his back in the dark street. His eyelids hung halfway over his bloodshot eyes, and his mouth was smeared with ice cream. He'd collapsed from a high intake of the frozen dessert. Somehow his black eye was gone. Cartoons heal fast.

It was Sandy who found him there. She looked down at him, hands on her hips.

"Shee-oot! Whatcha doin' lyin' in the gutter, SpongeBob?"

SpongeBob sat up, wobbling a bit. "Oh, it's terrible, Sandy!" he said. "I'm gonna lose everything! My house, all my stuff, my job! I'm nineteen thousand dollars in debt!" said SpongeBob, filling anyone in who'd forgotten.

"Well, butter my chittlin's!" Sandy exclaimed. "How'd that happen? Lemme guess. It was gamblin', won't it? That's a dangerous road, SpongeBob. Believe me, I know. Get me at the table, a little Texas Hold'em, Baccarat, craps, heck I don't care! I just can't st—"

"Whoa, Sandy! I didn't lose it from gambling!"

Sandy blinked. "Oh."

"I just didn't make enough money to afford everything."

"That makes sense. Ya only flip burgers for a livin', after all."

Suddenly SpongeBob grinned. "Hey, that reminds me! You have a job!"

"Gosh, nothin' gets past you, does it, SpongeBob?"

"Can you loan me some money?!" SpongeBob clasped his hands together. "_Please?_"

She chuckled. "I ain't got nineteen thousand dollars to just blow all willy nilly! Besides, between you an' me, I'm in a bit of a cash crunch too."

"Why? You're a rocket scientist!"

"Them durn chimps ain't paid me in weeks!" she said. "I think they figured out that they didn't need to send me underwater for me to invent stuff."

"That makes sense."

"Whose side are you on?!" she snapped.

SpongeBob cowered. "Uh, yours!"

Sandy rubbed her chin, deep in thought. "Ya know … you're only gonna get outta this situation if you hit Rock Bottom."

SpongeBob threw out his arms to gesture around him. "I'm lying in the gutter with dumpster ice cream all over my face! How much lower can I get?!"

"No, no, no. I mean Rock Bottom, the city," said Sandy. "Surefire way to make a quick buck. And have a good time."

"I don't know …" he said hesitantly. "I went there once and it was just awful! It's dark and lonely, and you can't tell if anyone is a boy or girl."

"I assure you, lighting and gender ambiguity aside, it's a rootin' tootin' good time!"

"You can go rooting and tooting yourself if you want," said SpongeBob, who didn't know what the barnacles Sandy meant by that anyway, "but I think I'll just stay here until I get arrested for loitering."

"Oh no, you aren't!" Sandy said, grabbing his hand. "We're goin' and that's final! Even if I have to drag your sorry yellow butt there!"

So Sandy dragged his sorry yellow butt there.

* * *

Rock Bottom was known as a seedy town. It was where people came to forget their problems, enjoy some wild nightlife, and if they were lucky, score some cash. The unpleasant experience SpongeBob had once the day of the balloon incident — not the stolen balloon incident, but the glove-shaped one that got away — had occurred in the morning. At that time, most people in the city were still recovering from a regrettable evening earlier. Thus the streets were mostly bare, people were irritable, and bus tickets were selling for visitors to get home.

SpongeBob was surprised to learn Rock Bottom was in a different time zone. Actually, it had its own unusual timeline that didn't exactly correlate with other parts of the ocean. Things were backwards. Sandy tried to explain it to him — something about trenches or whatever. SpongeBob didn't listen; the word 'bathymetry' was his first hint to tune out.

The two walked through the doors of the casino. The room was dark and smoky. The sound of jingles from the slot machines, which lined the walls, was blaringly obnoxious. There was a bar to the side, which SpongeBob in his naivety assumed was serving milk. Sandy paid no mind to these things or the sleazy people around them — her eyes were locked on the card tables.

"What's your game, SpongeBob?" she asked him.

SpongeBob grinned. "Ooh, I like Go Fish!"

"That ain't a bettin' game! Don'tcha know how to play poker or somethin'?" When SpongeBob shook his head, she sighed. "We-yell … how about Blackjack? It's easy. You just gotta get your cards as close to twenty one as ya can without goin' over. Think ya can handle it?"

SpongeBob saluted. But before they could begin, they needed chips. And startup money was not something SpongeBob had to spare. Sandy on the other hand, exchanged her money for a hundred dollars' worth of chips. She took the rolls from the counter and made her way to the card table.

"Follow me and watch a master at work!" she said. "You can learn from me and then try on your own, all right?"

SpongeBob agreed. He needed to learn as much as possible, as he had no gambling experience. Unless you count that time Mr. Krabs lost the sponge in a bet to Plankton. And he didn't count that.

Sandy sat down at the card table next to two fish already playing. SpongeBob stood behind her chair to observe.

All three players were dealt their cards. Sandy's face up card was a queen. "See, SpongeBob," she whispered. "These here kinda cards are worth ten and …" She tilted her other card up, the face down one, to see it. It was an ace. " … YEE HAW!" she exclaimed as she smacked the card on the other. "Twenty one! Read 'em and weep, dealer!"

"What just happened?" asked SpongeBob.

"I just won!" Sandy took her chips. "Easy money. Just like that."

"That's all there is? Wow!"

The dealer cleared his or her throat, annoyed by the pair's conversation. The gender of the fish was very unclear. The other two fish playing were also irritated. SpongeBob and Sandy were not adhering to Rock Bottom casino decorum: keep quiet, because loud sounds do not mix well with hangovers.

One of the fish, whose sex was also a mystery, blew smoke from his or her cigarette in SpongeBob's face. It was a not-so-subtle way to say _clam up._

SpongeBob coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. "Um, excuse me, sir … uh … ma'am? Excuse me sir-ma'am, but you seem to have accidentally blown your smoke in my direction, and I'd really appreciate it if—"

"Aw, is it irritating you?" the fish responded, his or her voice sarcastic. "Here, I'll put it out." The fish tapped the cigarette's ashes into one of SpongeBob's holes like an ashtray, then smothered it out on his forehead.

"Ouch!" SpongeBob exclaimed. "That really burns!"

Both fish and the dealer chuckled. Sandy growled, slamming her fist on the card table. "Y'all better cut it out! And cut that deck already, dealer! I'm ready to win so much that I can get them dang monkeys off my back for good!"

The dealer, frightened by the squirrel's outburst and monkey comment, promptly obeyed. Once he or she started shuffling, SpongeBob leaned over and whispered to Sandy, "I'm gonna go run my burn under some water."

"All right," she replied. "Don't be long now, 'cause you gotta lot'a learnin' to do!"

"Okee dokee!"

* * *

SpongeBob stared up at the bathroom doors. "Fish paste," he muttered. He couldn't tell which was the men's and which was the women's. But he couldn't wait much longer, as Sandy was still back at the table and his burn was literally smoldering. So he nervously swallowed and just ran in the first one.

He quickly glanced around. No urinals. Was this the wrong one?

"Hey … why are there guppy changing stations in here? This is a casino!"

As he contemplated this mystery, he got his answer. But not to his changing station question.

"Get out of here, you filthy pervert!" said a voice that was too high to be masculine or too low to be feminine. He or she gave SpongeBob a hard, full-palm slap to the face. "This is not your restroom!"

A red handprint glowed momentarily on SpongeBob's cheek. "Um … are you sure?" he asked, glancing around and rubbing the side of his face.

"You are one sick individual! In a casino, no less! That is where the cream of society's crop gather! What is this world coming to?!"

"Uh …"

The man-woman chased SpongeBob out of the bathroom and back into the main casino room. He ran over to Sandy to hide behind her. It wasn't necessary though, because the angry fish quickly gave up. Rock Bottom gamblers are very unmotivated people.

SpongeBob tugged at Sandy's suit. "Sandy, Sandy!" he said frantically. "Can we please go home?! I hate this place! It's smoky, and gross, and I can't tell the bathrooms apart, and I can't tell anyone's gender, and my burn hurts, and no one's blowing raspberries at me! THIS MAKES NO SENSE!"

Sandy didn't pay much attention to SpongeBob's crazed rant. She was hunched over the table, twitching. Her eyes were wild, she chuckled to herself, and she grinned in a strange manner.

SpongeBob finally noticed. "Uh, Sandy? Are you all right?"

"Of course, SpongeBob …" she said shakily. "I'll win the money back. Just one more hand!"

"_Back?_ How much did you lose?"

"Over five thousand dollars," the dealer answered.

"What?! But Sandy, I was only gone a few minutes! And you only had a hundred in chips!"

"I went back for more, SquarePants! Is that a crime?!" she snapped at him. "I was on a roll, okay! So I bet more per hand! And I got some bad cards — ain't my fault! You should always take another card when you're at seventeen! You're a fool if you don't! Only nineteen and above is on the fence!"

The others around chuckled.

"Sandy …" said SpongeBob. "I think you have a gambling problem."

"And the solution is more bettin'!"

"Shhh," he hushed. "You should really lower your voice!"

"And another thing!" she continued, not listening to him. "That tie-goes-to-the-dealer rule is more unfair than a hoop snake at a horseshoe contest!"

"Is there—" The fish interrupted him or herself to blow a raspberry. "— a problem here?" It was the manager, who glared the two down menacingly.

"Yeah! This place is rigged!" said Sandy. "How am I suppose'ta count cards when you ain't usin' a proper number of 'em?!"

There was a silence. SpongeBob wondered if the manager was actually thinking of an answer to Sandy's question. He also wondered why some of Rock Bottom's citizens made that noise with their tongues and some didn't, but the manager spoke before he could arrive at a conclusion.

"Security!"

* * *

SpongeBob and Sandy slowly floated up the trench, beside the road back to Bikini Bottom. They were each holding an umbrella, going back home Mary Poppins-style.

Sandy had calmed down. "Here's another rule about cards: never say out loud you count them. They'll kick you out." She sighed. "Sorry about all that, SpongeBob. You were right, I do got a gamblin' problem."

"It's okay, Sandy," said SpongeBob. "I forgive you!"

"It ain't even about the money though. It's about the thrill. It's just such a rush, like a drug or somethin'. Ya know?"

"Bahahaha," he laughed nervously. "Yeah, I know." Of course he didn't. "But what about all the money you lost?"

They neared the top of the trench. Sandy landed on the ground first. "Ye-yeah, I might be in debt now too … I got some phone calls to make …"

SpongeBob landed beside her and folded up his umbrella. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Sandy! This never would have happened if it wasn't for me!"

They started to walk home along the road. "Aw, don't blame yourself," said Sandy.

But SpongeBob couldn't help it. Sandy was the third person now his money problems had adversely affected. His debt crisis was like a curse to everyone around him. He decided then that when he got home, he wouldn't interact with anyone at all. That would be the only safe way to protect those he cared about.

Assuming he still had a home to get home to.

_To be continued._


	4. Repo Party!

**Chapter 4**

With his financial burdens like a curse to everyone around him, SpongeBob vowed to isolate himself for their protection. He cared more for their safety than his own happiness. However, as he dragged himself home after his unpleasant experience at Rock Bottom, he realized that he could see his friends again once his money problems were gone. He thought this realization was an epiphany — all he had to do was absolve his debts and his social life would return to normal. Then he remembered that was his problem in the first place.

SpongeBob kicked a rock in his path as he walked home. _'How can I come up with the money so fast?'_ he thought to himself.

He glanced up and saw a sign for blood donation. Immediately his chipper disposition returned. "Oh, boy!" he said gleefully. "How luckily coincidental!"

SpongeBob entered the building and approached the front desk. Behind it sat a female fish.

"Welcome to the Bikini Bottom Bank of Blood!" she said. "Where aiding people and alliteration are our number one priorities!"

"I'd like to sell my blood, please!" said SpongeBob. "I really need the money!"

"Oh, we stopped paying people for blood a long time ago!" she replied. "It's a donation. Your only payment is the warm, happy feeling of a good deed! And free crackers and juice."

SpongeBob sighed and walked out. "So much for that idea …" he muttered. He was about to continue his sulking home, when a shadowy figure emerged from behind the blood bank.

"Pssst. Hey, kid."

SpongeBob looked up. "Who, me?"

"Yeah, come're." The shadow retreated back into the dark alley.

And of course SpongeBob, being as street savvy as he is, happily followed. _'Ooh, maybe this stranger has candy!'_ he thought.

SpongeBob walked into the alley to find the figure by a dumpster, still dimly lit. All he could see was that it was a fish in a long overcoat.

"I heard you were lookin' for some quick cash," the fish said in a gruff voice.

"Oh, yes sir!" said SpongeBob. "You know where I could fine some?"

The fish smirked. "Yeah. How's about I take one of your kidneys off your hands there? I'll pay cash."

SpongeBob glanced down at his abdomen and then back up. "My kidney? I don't know. Don't I need that?"

"Nah, you only need one. In fact, there's lots of stuff you got two of that you only need one. Like your lungs, your eyes … in fact, technically you don't need either of your—"

"Gosh, that sounds like it wouldn't be good for my health at all!"

"Look … don't worry …" Somehow the fish's words didn't match his tone. "Just lie down on the ground here. I'll take out the kidney myself. And I won't use the opportunity to take your other organs for resale value too." He paused. "Does it sound suspicious that I said that?"

Before SpongeBob could naively say no, another shadowy figure approached. A very small shadowy figure.

"Psst, you got the goods?" its voice asked.

SpongeBob recognized him. He grinned; he was glad to see a familiar face. "Plankton? Wow, what are you doing out here?"

"SpongeBob?" Plankton was surprised to be identified. And he was even more surprised to see SpongeBob possibly doing business with someone as shady as the fish beside him. "Oh … hey. I'm just, you know … restocking."

"Restocking for what?"

"The Chum Bucket. What'd you think chum was made of?"

SpongeBob stuck out his tongue. "Blech! That's disgusting!"

Plankton shrugged. "Well, the hospital was on to me so I had to change suppliers."

SpongeBob's eyes darted around quickly. Left, right, left. Nothing was happening? Where was the inevitable misfortune that had befallen Gary, Mr. Krabs, and Sandy? Did it not apply to Plankton? Surely some kind of random problem would arise from SpongeBob's money woes.

But nothing happened.

SpongeBob took a step backward. Then another. Then he turned and ran away as fast as he could.

Plankton shrugged. "All right, what do you have for me this week?" he asked the fish.

The fish only sold Plankton the organs that'd gone bad and were of no use to him. There was no way Plankton could afford the hefty price tag of a fresh organ.

"A lot," the fish replied. "No one's buying lately and everything's gone bad. Maybe I should get a freezer or something instead of just tucking them in my overcoat."

"Nah, that's no way to run a legitimate business."

* * *

SpongeBob sulked all the way home. It was a long walk back, even with all his organs and blood.

Eventually he spied his pineapple in the distance. But as he got closer, he noticed something was different. There were men in brown shirts sitting and standing all around it. So SpongeBob made a logical conclusion.

"Oh, boy!" he said. "A surprise party for me!"

He hurried all the way home after that; the bounce in his step was back. He kept thinking how exciting it was that someone had thrown him a surprise party. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

SpongeBob scampered up to the house. "Hello, everyone! I'm here!"

The fish around the pineapple gave him a lazy glance. There was no 'SURPRISE!' as SpongeBob had expected. Instead they continued to sit and stand idly around. Some were sitting on boxes. There were a number of boxes around the front yard, but SpongeBob did not notice. A strange thing about the fish was that many of them were sipping from cups. Something about the drink was oddly familiar.

"Aren't you guys gonna jump out and surprise me?" SpongeBob asked with a frown.

One of the fish shrugged. "Why would we do that? Isn't the fact that we're taking all your stuff surprise enough?"

"Taking all my …" SpongeBob gasped. "Hey, this isn't a surprise party! It's a repo party!"

The fish swirled his orange-yellow drink around as he spoke. "I've heard a lot of things in this business, but 'repo party' is a first."

"What's that?" SpongeBob pointed to one of the drinks. "Tang?"

"Nope, wrong fruit."

Suddenly a whistle blew. The fish groaned and hopped off the boxes. Their break was up and it was time to get back to work.

Patrick rushed over to the yard from his rock. Yes, it was one of those rare moments where he chose to run. The starfish had his arms up and a big grin on his face. "All right! Choo-choo time!"

He skidded to a stop in front of SpongeBob. The sponge looked over to him. "That wasn't a train whistle, Patrick."

"Oh, darn it!" Patrick said angrily.

"You should really get out of here before something bad happens," said SpongeBob. "Everyone around me has had terrible luck since I've had money problems!"

Patrick rolled his eyes. He never took the right things seriously. "Please, SpongeBob. You worry too much! I was the first person to be around you when you found out, and nothing's happened to me!"

"Well … that's true." SpongeBob brightened. "Maybe I've been wrong about all this!"

"Of course you have! You wanna know a _real _problem? I still haven't found my tail! And now I can't find any choo-choo's!"

"Huh?"

"Hey, SpongeBob …" Patrick had just then noticed the fish at the pineapple. He wasn't exactly the most observant creature in the sea. "Why are those guys taking all your stuff?"

"It's a repo party …" SpongeBob said with a frown. "The only kind of party that's not a happy one."

Meanwhile next door, an actual party was taking place. A happy party. If you count one person celebrating as a party, and Squidward did. He'd seen the repo men when they first came and actually knew what they were. There had always been an emergency party hat, noisemaker, and set of streamers stored away in one of his cabinets for just this occasion. Squidward tossed confetti all over his house in celebration as he cheered. Nevermind how much work he'd have to do to clean it all up — he was too excited about the best day of his life to worry about that.

Squidward had done this for a whole hour straight since he'd seen the repo men. And he was still going.

Back next door, SpongeBob had sat on the ground to think. His chairs had already been repossessed so he didn't have a choice. "What am I gonna do, Patrick?" He didn't get an answer. "… Patrick?" SpongeBob looked around for his friend.

SpongeBob found him by the side of the pineapple. The starfish had his mouth near the fruit, gurgling noisily. There was a spigot jutting from the outside of the house. Patrick was on his back, chugging from the tap.

"Patrick! What are you doing?!" exclaimed SpongeBob. "Why is there a faucet thing on the side of my house?!"

Patrick let go of the tap and swallowed. "I don't know, but your house tastes pretty good!"

"Let me see that …" SpongeBob turned the spigot on a trickle and put his hand under it. Then he cautiously put his finger in his mouth to taste it. "Hey! This is pineapple juice!" he said, because he hadn't caught on until then. "This is what those guys were drinking! My house!"

One of the repo fish marched up, waving his arms angrily. "You can't touch a drop of that stuff! It's now property of the First National Bank of a Real Bank!" He shooed them away with his hands. "Now get! Go!"

SpongeBob and Patrick only took a few steps, but apparently it was enough to suffice for the fish because he didn't bother them anymore.

"They're drinking my house and taking all my stuff …" SpongeBob said as tears welled in his eyes. "And I can't do anything about it …"

"Well, I know what _I'm_ doing," said Patrick nonchalantly. He retraced those steps he'd just taken. "I'm getting some more of that juice."

"Wait, Patrick! Didn't you hear that guy? Only people from the First National Bank …" SpongeBob trailed off as a grin spread across his face. "I just got a brilliant idea!" Patrick wasn't around to make a dumb side comment; he was already guzzling SpongeBob's house again. "Maybe _SpongeBob SquarePants_ can't take any of these things … but _RepoBob Takingotherpeople'sstuffwhenthey'redownontheirluck_ can!" He smirked as he tiptoed off with his new, mischievous plan.

* * *

Squidward was still blowing a noisemaker and cavorting about his house when SpongeBob zipped past him. "HiSquidwardbyeSquidward!" he said so fast that it lacked spacing.

Squidward froze, the noisemaker extended. _'SpongeBob?! In my house?!'_ he thought.

SpongeBob ran back again, toward the door. This time he wore one of Squidward's brown shirts. "Hiagainbyeagain!"

And he was gone.

Squidward's noisemaker finally recoiled. The incident had occurred only in a matter of seconds. _'He'll be gone soon … he'll be gone …'_ the octopus reassured himself. And to continue his celebration, he popped open a bottle of champagne and threw even more confetti.

* * *

"Why, hello fellow gentlemen!" said SpongeBob, feigning a strange, unnecessary accent. He was still wearing Squidward's shirt. "I am a fellow man of repossessions! I, too, have been sent from the First National Bank of a Real Bank to reclaim this collateral!"

The real repo men exchanged confused glances.

"Because I definitely enjoy partaking in the reacquisition of other persons' belongings!" continued SpongeBob. "I can't get enough of it! So may I please join you in taking these things? I assure you I will not take them to another place for safekeeping until I get my money problems straight or anything like that."

"Oh, sure," answered one of the fish. "Here, why don't you take this box first?"

'_Wow, they're really falling for it! My plan is working great!'_ thought SpongeBob. "Okay!" he said out loud. "Which box is it?"

"Right here." The fish pointed to SpongeBob. "This ugly yellow one."

"Huh?"

All the fish suddenly burst into laughter. "Did you really think we'd fall for that?!" one asked. "All you did was put on a brown shirt!"

Poor disguises such as his normally worked in cartoons, so SpongeBob was surprised.

After they'd gotten their fill of laughing at him, the repo fish returned to doing their jobs. SpongeBob watched helplessly as all his belongings were loaded onto a nearby truck. Actually, he cried like a baby.

* * *

The fish checked 'TV made from old-timey diving suit helmet' off his list. "I think that's it."

It'd been a few hours and the fish had completed their task. Not only was SpongeBob's pineapple empty of items and furniture, but it was empty of juice and pulp as well. It'd been drunk completely. All that was left was a huddled mass of skin lying in the sand like an unfolded camping tent, and the green stem from the top.

SpongeBob sniffled as he watched the scene. He was too caught up in his soul-crushing despair to remember a similar event that had occurred before, and that a seed was sitting below in the ground.

"Well, Patrick …" said SpongeBob. "I guess I'll — Patrick?" The sea star was gone again.

The last repo fish walked by on his way to the truck. SpongeBob ran up to him.

"Wait, wait! Where's my friend Patrick?"

"Patrick?" The fish checked his list. "Oh yeah, him. We had to take him with the rest of the stuff. He drank almost all the pineapple. And every drop of that now belongs to the bank."

"Patrick belongs to the bank now?!"

"Technically, only what's inside of him." And with that, the fish walked away.

SpongeBob watched the truck drive off. His things were gone, his best friend was gone, and most of his home was in the aforementioned friend that was gone. All he had left were the clothes on his back. And Squidward's shirt too.

_To be continued._


	5. Fancy Meeting

**Chapter 5**

SpongeBob sat on the deflated pineapple skin mound, where his home used to stand. He'd been crying since the repo men had taken everything he owned and Patrick, too. He had nothing now except the pineapple leftovers, which were beginning to rot.

His cries became louder and louder. He couldn't stop bawling.

The sounds had begun to annoy Squidward next door. At first the octopus ignored it. SpongeBob was just in the low swing of his bipolar disorder, Squidward figured. Sooner or later he'd bounce back to his normal, annoyingly perky self. But it was taking too long. Squidward had finished his one-man party long ago and just wanted to relax. There was a documentary on television about Stradivarius violins and all he wanted to do was enjoy it.

Squidward sat on his couch. Even with his volume all the way up, he could barely hear the television. SpongeBob's sad wails drowned out the violins. His cries were so terrible that they sounded like he was passing a stone, experiencing a Charlie horse, or giving birth.

Squidward angrily marched outside and up to SpongeBob, still sitting in the pineapple ruins. "SpongeBob!" he called.

SpongeBob abruptly stopped his crying and looked up at him. "Huh?"

"Why are you crying?!" asked Squidward. "Are you passing a stone or two other painful descriptions?"

"I wish!" answered SpongeBob. "I lost all my stuff and bad things happened to all my friends! … oh! Except you, of course."

"You lost all your stuff and bad things happened to all your friends with no exception because I'm not your friend?" Squidward stopped to chuckle. "Oh, this is priceless." He laughed again. "Get it? _Priceless?_ Because you're so in debt? Neptune, I crack myself up."

"What am I gonna do, Squidward?" SpongeBob sniffled. "I've got nothing now."

"Seeing as how I'll never hear the harmonious sounds of Stradivari with your car alarm-like voice screeching, I'm going to suggest you go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere but here!"

"Where am I gonna go? I don't have any money, Mr. Krabs had a heart or money attack, I made Sandy lose all her money at the casino—"

"Was it a balloon / casino?!" Squidward hastily blurted out, pronouncing the slash.

"No. It was the regular kind."

"Oh." Squidward's eyes darted around nervously. "Nevermind."

"Balloon / casino …" SpongeBob rubbed his chin. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Uh … it doesn't. You've never heard it before, okay? Neither have I. Why would it sound familiar? It's not so stop trying to think where it came from. Are you? Don't."

SpongeBob frowned. "Why are you talking so fast, Squidward?" he asked. "And sweating?"

"Sweating? No, that's …" Squidward hesitated. " … water. You know, like from the air? It's all around us. Are you calling me a liar?!"

"No, take it easy!"

"Okay, I admit it!" Squidward said suddenly, even though all the pressure was in his mind. "It's Squilliam, okay?! He's the one you were trying to think of earlier!"

"Squilliam?"

"Yes! I can't believe it took you so long to realize! Everyone else has long since figured it out!" Squidward paused to catch his breath. He was speaking both quickly and loudly.

"What do you mean?" asked SpongeBob, the concept of a fourth wall reference lost on him.

"Oh, nevermind! I don't know why I waste my …" Squidward trailed off. Something about SpongeBob unnerved him. The sponge was just standing there with an eerie stare. Squidward couldn't remember the last time he saw him blink. "… what? What is it?"

SpongeBob continued to remain still. He gazed absentmindedly at Squidward.

Squidward tentatively reached his tentacle out and poked him. The second he touched, SpongeBob became animated again.

"Nothing bad's happening?!" SpongeBob blurted out.

"Well, I'm having to talk to you, so speak for your—"

"It happened to all my other friends! Somehow my money problems have ruined the lives of everyone I—"

"Wait, clam up for a second," said Squidward, returning the favor of SpongeBob interrupting him. "You're serious about this? 'Bad things' happening to people you know?"

SpongeBob started to cry again. "Don't rub it in!"

"In that case, I'm not nervous to say 'Squilliam' anymore! I mean …" He looked down to see if SpongeBob understood his embarassment regarding the more successful octopus. Nope, still as oblivious as usual. "… I have just the solution for you."

"You do?! Gosh, thank you so much, Squidward! You're the best pal I ever have left!"

"Yeah, yeah …" he humored. "Listen, you just gotta go to Squilliam's place and ask for some money. He has …" It pained Squidward to continue the sentence; he was ashamed of his shortcomings in comparison to his rival. "… _lots_ of it, and I'm sure he'd be glad to help you out."

"Wow! That's great!" replied SpongeBob. He was too naïve to detect Squidward's lie.

"And should anything bad happen to him like the others, like say he loses all his money or something, that's just a coincidence," said Squidward.

"Uh …"

"What are you waiting for? You better get going! Before …uh …" Squidward hesitated. He needed a better reason than the violin documentary; that might have been too obvious " … you starve or something!"

"You're right, Squidward!" SpongeBob said in a triumphant tone. "Thank you so much for inspiring me! I hope nothing bad happens to you while I'm gone!"

SpongeBob turned and made his way toward the street. He put his arms rigidly downwards, at ninety-degree angles, and said those infamous words of his. "I'm ready! I'm ready!" he chanted.

Squidward watched him walk away down the street. "Been a while since he's done that. Whatever happened to that stupid thing he does?"

But he decided it was best to leave the mysteries of abandoned catchphrases and possible continuity issues alone. Stratavari was calling.

* * *

It was quite a walk to Squilliam's house. And it was even longer since SpongeBob didn't know where it was. In his triumphant, inspired moment he'd forgotten to ask where to go. But he was perfectly content to ask random people on the street for directions, so eventually he figured out where he was going.

Along the way, he ran into Pearl. Their encounter left the whale somewhat unjustly arrested for defacing public property in an incident involving hot dogs behind glass, a jellyfishing net, and lottery tickets. The event would have been described in detail, but it is a well-known fact that nobody likes Pearl enough to read about her. She is what one might call the opposite of a fan favorite.

After the incident, SpongeBob continued on his way to Squilliam's. His mood had once again been demoted from cheerful to sullen thanks to his financial burden's impact on another. Why did this keep happening?

Eventually he arrived at his destination. It was hard to miss — being unnaturally, and probably dangerously, tall. It seemed far too top-heavy to meet safety regulations, but this wasn't SpongeBob's current concern.

He rang the doorbell and brightly exclaimed, "HI SQUILLIAM!" when it opened. This was a mistake though, as the door was answered by a butler. The butler led SpongeBob through the house and up an elevator. A whirlpool bath elevator. Squilliam sure has class.

The two exited the elevator and started down a hall. "You caught Mr. Fancyson at a good time," said the butler.

"Why's that?" asked SpongeBob. "What's he doing?"

SpongeBob got his answer when they arrived at the doorway. He peeked in and saw Squilliam relaxing. The entire room was filled with moneybags overflowing with cash, and dollar signs printed on the side. Squilliam was lying on them like a bed, resting his hands behind his head.

"Sir, this young man would like a word with you," the butler said to Squilliam.

Squilliam opened his eyes to see SpongeBob, waving to him. Where had he seen that sponge before? Oh, right. He was an acquaintance of Squidward's, wasn't he? "Come in, come in!" said Squilliam, gesturing for SpongeBob to enter. "Take a seat!"

SpongeBob obeyed and sat on a pile of moneybags across from Squilliam. It took him a moment to get situated; mounds of cash aren't as comfortable as one might think.

Of course, Squilliam disagreed. "Doesn't money make the best cushions?" he asked in a smug tone. "Nothing but the finest for my _rich _behind."

"It sure is …" SpongeBob replied nervously, still trying to fit himself comfortably.

"So what brings you to my not-humble-at-all abode? Besides wanting to get an eyeful of class in this tasteless town."

"W-well, um, actually …" SpongeBob stammered. "I'm here to ask you a favor. I'm really in debt and I wanted to know if maybe … you could … you know … give-me-nineteen-thousand-dollars-please?" He said the last part very quickly, almost unintelligibly.

Squilliam smirked at SpongeBob. At first he didn't reply. It made the situation even more awkward for SpongeBob — a beggar in his presence. Finally he said, "What kind of bills do you think are in those bags underneath you?"

"I don't kn—"

"The answer is hundred dollar bills," interrupted Squilliam. "With some thousand dollar bills as well."

"I didn't think they made those anymore?"

"I bribed the mint!" said Squilliam. "That's how rich I am!"

SpongeBob glanced down at the bags beneath him. It was hard to comprehend so much money sitting right below. "Wow …"

"Just the few bags you're sitting on is more than enough to pay off your debts and then some. It's funny, isn't it? What I use for a cushion means the difference between a so-called normal life and debtor's prison."

"I don't think they have those anymore either …"

"Then I'll build one! I'm that rich!" Squilliam quickly snapped. "Oh, sorry about that. Force of habit."

"Th-that's okay …"

"Let's see now …" Squilliam still had that sly smirk. "I _could_ let you take a couple of my cushions with you …"

"Wow, really?! Thank you so much!"

Squilliam chuckled. "You didn't let me finish. I _could_, but you'll have to do something for me in return."

SpongeBob swallowed nervously. "What?"

"Isn't it obvious? Come now. What do I love more than money?"

"Hmmm …" SpongeBob tried to think. "Unibrows?"

Squilliam too was deep in thought, not paying attention to SpongeBob. "Wait, wait — I don't know if I love it _more_ than money. I _suppose_ it'd be less. Or maybe the same …"

"What is it?"

"Tormenting a certain someone. I think you know him," he said slyly.

"Squidward?"

Squilliam clapped his hands twice to signal for the butler. The servant approached with a gold video camera on a gold platter. It was held out for SpongeBob to take.

"Go on," instructed Squilliam. "Pick it up."

SpongeBob did as he was told. He held the camera and looked into the viewfinder. "Wow! Is this solid gold?!"

Squilliam laughed at SpongeBob's ignorance. "Of course not, you silly peasant. Gold is soft. If it was solid gold, it'd get squishy in your hands like putty. Why do commoners always make that mistake?"

"Oh …"

"Here's my offer," said Squilliam as SpongeBob continued to fiddle with the object. "Embarrass Squiddy. Concoct a scheme — you've seen mine, correct? It's just hard work, you know. It'd be nice to pay someone else to do it for once. Get it on film and bring the tape back to me. In exchange, I'll let you have some of the moneybags. The more humiliating and cruel it is, the more I'll give you."

"But Squidward's my friend! I can't do that to him!"

"Think about it, will you? Get back to me. But now …" Squilliam snapped his fingers for the butler. " … it is time for my bath. My money bath in which I get in my fancy tub and rub cash all over myself. Butler, would you kindly show Mr. SquarePrance the door?"

"Um, it's Square_Pants_," said SpongeBob as the butler approached.

"Whatever."

_To be continued._


	6. Gold and Irony

**Chapter 6**

SpongeBob walked down the street, away from Squilliam's mansion. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going; his eyes were focused on the camera is his hands.

"Can I really do this?" he asked himself. "Can I really humiliate Squidward for money?"

He didn't like that he entertained the idea. It would be simple — one quick trick, and his problems would be over. Squilliam would toss a few moneybags his way, and he'd get his house back, his friends back, and everything would return to normal.

But what would he do? SpongeBob thought hard, practicing out loud what he might say: "Hey Squidward, I need your band to play at my five star restaurant? No, wait — say Squidward, whaddaya say we all eat dinner at my fancy home show — no, I mean — Squidward, I'm calling to rub my mansion in your bubble bowl — BARNACLES!"

SpongeBob couldn't think of a good plan because he was not the vengeful type. His brain could only recycle (and butcher) the old plans of Squilliam.

He shook himself. "What the …? I can't do this! Squidward is my friend!"

There was a dumpster nearby. SpongeBob held the camera over it, preparing to drop it in. "It would be wrong to hurt another to help myself!" he said. "Farewell, camera!" He let go, and the object fell onto the garbage heap below.

SpongeBob walked away, head lowered. He slowly sulked a few steps. Then he stopped himself.

"WHAT WAS I THINKING?!"

He raced back to the dumpster and dove into it. After rummaging through crusty pizza boxes, week-old Chinese food, and what appeared to be medical waste, he found the camera. In actuality, it was _on top_ of the other things; there was no need to literally dive into the dumpster. But SpongeBob didn't think that through.

"This thing is made of gold!" he said as he wiped the dumpster filth off of it with his shirt. "I can scrap it for cash!"

So SpongeBob was off to the pawnshop.

* * *

Squidward stared at himself in the mirror. It was a well-kept secret of his that, like Squilliam, he had a natural unibrow. The difference between the two octopi (aside from the fame, fortune, and overall better quality of life for one) was that Squidward plucked every day to keep his from being noticeable.

He raised the tweezers. "Steady, Squidward …" he told himself. He always hated doing this; it was a painful experience.

Just as he was about to pluck, the bathroom shook. He froze. "What was that? … no, don't get distracted! Back to work! No pain no gain! Wait … that doesn't fit—"

_Ding dong!_

Any excuse to procrastinate the pain was a welcome one, so he went downstairs to answer the door.

When Squidward opened it, he saw a short, squat fish standing outside. A bulldozer was directly behind him, motor running.

"Are you Squidward Tentacles?" asked the fish.

Squidward didn't reply at first. His eyes were locked in disbelief at the bulldozer. "… yes?"

"I'm here to seize your house."

Squidward finally looked back to the fish. "What?! You can't do that!"

"Sure I can. It's called eminent domain."

"But why?!"

"Isn't it obvious? Your house is the only one left on the whole street. We're going to tear it down and build a stoplight."

"What would anyone need a stoplight for?! There's no intersection here!"

"There will be once we build a stoplight."

Squidward just then realized something the fish said. "Wait … did you say I'm the only one left on the street? That's not true, there's …" He started to point to SpongeBob's house, but trailed off when he saw that it was just the leftover pineapple skin. "Oh, well, there's Patrick's house over there!" Squidward pointed to his right.

"That? That's just an abandoned rock."

Squidward then remembered Patrick had been gone. The bank had seized him due to his drinking of SpongeBob's pineapple.

"Here's a check for reimbursement," said the fish, handing it over.

Squidward took it and widened his eyes. "Hey! This is hardly a fraction of what I paid! My house is worth way more than this!"

"It's amazing how much ugly, neighboring structures can decrease property values," said the fish.

"This is a real load of bull-shrimp! Are you really from the government? What's your name? I ought to report you!"

The fish hesitated. " … my name is Emmett Doughmane."

"What?! You just made that up!"

The fish was unfazed. "You have thirty minutes to pack, which is the same amount of time it's going to take for my pizza to arrive." He flipped open a cell phone and dialed.

"That's all?! I need more—"

The fish held up his hand, gesturing Squidward to be quiet. "Yes, Pizza Castle?" he said to the phone. "I'd like one large pizza with pepperonis and anchovies. Yes, I said anchovies. What? Look, I don't judge _you_."

Squidward raced inside to hurry packing. The clock was ticking.

* * *

SpongeBob skipped merrily up the street. He was feeling rather good about himself, having taken the high road instead of stooping to Squilliam's level. He was also quite pleased to have a check in his pocket from the pawnshop. It wasn't enough to pay off his debts, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.

As he neared his home (or the place where his home used to be), he spied Squidward frantically carrying a box out, with others stacked nearby.

"Hey, Squidward! Whatcha doing?" he chirped as he approached. "Ooh! Are you having a Repo Party?"

Squidward, even in his panic, stopped to face SpongeBob. "SpongeBob! You are the last person I want to see right now! This is all your fault!"

SpongeBob frowned. "Huh?"

"Because of you and your money problems, I'm getting kicked out of my house!"

"Gosh! How come, Squidward?"

"I just said why — _you!_ If you had just paid your bills you wouldn't have gotten your house repossessed, and it would still be there, and Patrick wouldn't have abandoned his, and the property value wouldn't have plummeted, and I wouldn't be in this mess!"

"So you're saying … _I_ did something that caused _you_ harm?"

"Yes!"

"_I_ _caused_ you great despair, turmoil, and humiliation?"

"Yes, you did! What do you have to say for yourself?"

SpongeBob grinned. "Gotta go, Squidward!" He turned and scampered off down the street.

Squidward watched him leave in disbelief. Did SpongeBob just blow him off?

* * *

SpongeBob rushed into the pawnshop. He went up to the store clerk and slammed the check on the counter. "I need to make a return ASAP!"

The clerk looked up from his magazine. "You must really be in a hurry if you're speaking in acronyms."

"That's right! Wait — is it still called a _return_ in a pawnshop? Oh, nevermind! I just need the camera back!"

"Sorry, it's for sale now. If you want it back, you'll have to pay store price, which is more than what I gave you."

SpongeBob needed that camera back. The money he'd received from the pawnshop was not nearly as much as Squilliam was willing to give for a good tape. And the destruction of Squidward's house due to SpongeBob's errors was surely worth plenty.

"That's fine!" SpongeBob figured he'd recoup his loss with Squilliam's moneybags / cushions. He handed over his credit card and bolted out the door before the clerk could realize it'd just be declined.

* * *

SpongeBob needed to get back to Squidward's as quickly as possible. He wanted to sprint all the way there, and he started to, but his pace began to slow. Lack of food meant a lack of energy. Since he hadn't eaten lately, he didn't have the stamina to keep racing around.

SpongeBob placed his hands on his stomach as it gurgled loudly. Where was he going to get food without any money? Or more specifically, negative money?

He looked up from his place on the sidewalk and saw a building with a sign that read, 'SOUP KITCHEN.' How fortunate he was to be in just the right part of town.

"Oh, boy!" he said gleefully. "This is perfect! I bet this place has great leftovers in their dumpster!"

He happily rounded the corner and hopped into the dumpster. As he rummaged through, he couldn't help but think about how this was not the first time he'd done this today. In fact, at this rate, it was almost becoming a hobby of his. That was as far as he got to think about the subject, as his hunger was too big of a distraction.

"There must be some soup in here somewhere!" he said, tossing bits of trash aside. Then he saw it, at the bottom of the bin. A brownish, green liquid. Minestrone, perhaps?

Without a spoon he had to lap it up like an animal. After a couple licks, he sat up, grimacing. "This doesn't taste like any soup I've ever had …" he said, smacking his lips. This was because it was actually dumpster juice, but SpongeBob didn't know that.

Suddenly he heard a loud, metallic bang. He poked his head out the top of the dumpster to see what it was. Standing just outside the waste disposal unit were two police officers.

"What do you think you're doing?" said one officer, tapping his baton threateningly.

SpongeBob hesitated. "Uhh …"

"Can't you read the sign?"

The officer pointed to a sign just above the dumpster that read, 'NO DUMPING.'

SpongeBob, in his eagerness to eat out of the trash, hadn't seen it. "I don't understand!"

"This is a private dumpster! Only the soup kitchen is allowed to put anything in it!"

"But I didn't put anything in!" said SpongeBob.

"You put _yourself_ in it!" said the officer.

"I didn't know that counted! I've been dumpster diving a couple times today!"

"What?! Oh, you people make me sick!"

The other police officer leaned into the dumpster and cuffed SpongeBob. "You're under arrest for unlawful disposal." He smirked as he heard SpongeBob whimper. "And if you think our laws on littering are tough, just wait until you see what we do for _that _offense."

The two tossed SpongeBob, reeking of dumpster filth, into the squad car. He tried to keep himself from crying in the backseat.

"It's so ironic," said SpongeBob. "I had money in my pocket but I gave it up for a chance at more, and now I'm gonna get neither and Squidward's still gonna lose his house."

"Hey!" said the officer in the passenger seat harshly. "No talking about irony in the squad car!"

"Yeah, don't you remember?" began the driving officer. "You have the right to remain silent."

The other officer chuckled. "I think we forgot to read him his rights."

"Did we? Tartar sauce, you're right. I always forget that."

"Am I gonna get fed in jail?" asked SpongeBob hopefully.

"Sure, we'll give you some bread and water."

"And occasionally gruel," added the other policeman. "But I think it's just the bread and water mashed together."

SpongeBob grinned. "Oh, boy!"

_To be continued._

_A/N: To all y'all Squilliam fans … don't worry, he'll be coming back. In due time. _


End file.
